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Giggling

Elisabeth & Stephen

Yesterday on the way home from church, the
girls were lamenting the fact that I was going to be gone most of
the afternoon: I had a dear friend in from out of town and we were
going to catch up. In the midst of the general grumbling and
kvetching, Maddie suddenly said to Cora, “Hey, Cora, I
actually have a great idea of something we can do while Mommy is
gone!”

Should I be scared here?

When we arrived home, Maddie threw off her coat and made a list of
supplies she’d need, starting with two boxes of a very
specific size. Lucky for Maddie, her mom is a box hoarder (yes,
it’s probably a real thing) and I was able to find the boxes
before having to run back out the door. As I left I saw Maddie
happily using the good scissors while Cora reverentially lifted out
our bag of multi-colored Sharpies.

Saying a quick prayer of thanks that I wasn’t in charge for
the next several hours, I left.

When I got home right around dinner time, the girls had a smug,
self-satisfied look about them. As soon as the meal was over,
Maddie said, “Are you ready for the show?” And the two
girls ran into the living room.

Maddie and Cora spent all afternoon making a puppet theatre.
They’d designed an ingenious system of two attached cardboard
boxes: one for the stage, and the other, lying on its side and
stacked under the stage box, for them to slip their hands into for
the show. They’d designed and colored scenery and a dozen
puppets and even made a show announcement placard.

The grown-ups sat down to a fantastic re-telling of The Three
Little Pigs, and let me tell you, I think it’s my favorite
version. Ever. Maddie and Cora were happy and laughing and so proud
of the work they’d done. They even cleaned up all the
detritus from their creativity.

Over the past few weeks we’ve seen our sweet, happy girl turn
into a weepy, crabby, snappy, angry little brat. Over, and over,
and over again.

Cora will leave school and be monosyllabic. She won’t want to
talk, walk sullenly home, and head straight for her candy jar. Then
she’ll ask for something ridiculous, like a trip to the
Build-A-Bear store, and when I say no she’ll storm upstairs
and cry and sulk and yell at me when I darken her door for a good
HOUR. Then she’ll pull through it, then be cuddly and sidling
up to me and wanting lots of love.

I’m telling you, if it were someone else’s kid
I’d be looking for signs of bullying at school, or abuse at
home. Since it’s MY kid, I’ve had those talks, in
depth, several times over the past few weeks. And I’m looking
for signs of puberty because I swear, my six-year-old is acting
like a teenager.

Since moving to Texas six years ago,
I’ve been very fortunate to find a small group of
neighborhood friends to go through parenthood with me. In our
neighborhood we have seven other families with children almost
exactly Maddie and Cora’s ages; moms who tolerate my
crunchiness and willingly watch my kids when I have a babysitting
crisis; and dads who like to play rock music and video games as
much as Brian does. This core group is very dear to me: the
children are rock solid besties with my kids, and will never leave
each other out, and I know my gal pals ALWAYS have my back.

Yes, we are all super close. And yet my children know they are not
EVER allowed to get into a car with one of those dads unless
there’s someone else in the car, too.

And I’m wondering why I can’t write off the bajillion
dollars I spend every year on lessons.

I mean, isn’t that preparing them for meaningful future
employment? If Cora becomes a world-class ballerina,
shouldn’t I be able to pre-emptively deduct the cost of her
ballet lessons and tights? And if Maddie’s an Olypmic
equestrian in the making, it only makes sense that I should write
off her riding lessons.

Yes?

Almost finished. Almost. I’m in the home stretch as I prepare
for our Tuesday meeting with our accountant.

As the weather warms up, this family
spends as much time as we possibly can out-of-doors. We’ll go
for bike rides; we’ll play in the park – for HOURS;
we’ll take books, snacks, and a blanket to our neighborhood
pond and lie on the grass for hours reading books and feeding the
ducks – really, we’ll do anything to simply hang out in
the great outdoors.

With all this time spent outside comes a lot of great things
– fresh air, vitamin D, lots of exercise, seeing our
neighbors – and one bad thing: the ice cream truck. I swear,
that guy waits until we leave the house, hiding around the corner,
then fires up his tinkly little music and starts stalking us. EVERY
SINGLE TIME we are outdoors we hear his music, and Cora always
turns to me and says, “Mommy, PLEASE may we get an ice cream?
PLEASE? Just this once?”

EVERY SINGLE TIME I have to say no to the kids – and not just
because I want to. But I never bring money with me on our outings;
why would I need to? So every single time, I promise Cora
we’ll get ice cream the next time Mommy has money when the
Ice Cream Guy is around.